


The First Noel

by oceanbluecas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Christmas, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Minor Angst, POV Dean Winchester, dean's sensitive nipples, feel good fic, holiday fic, unapologetic use of christmas cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 21:22:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9029126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceanbluecas/pseuds/oceanbluecas
Summary: When a case goes the way all cases inevitably go, one of Dean’s long held secrets is revealed to a delighted Sam and a fascinated Castiel. As Dean grapples with the ramifications, along with a live-in angel, they stumble into what may very well become a new Christmas tradition.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my lovely betas, [Areiton](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton) and [sixxstiel](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sixxstiel). Any remaining mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Recommended listening: [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PuQeZDu0mAQ).

Dean’s boots crunched through the thick snow as he jogged down the sidewalk, flinging the ankle deep fluff upward with each footfall. From his knees down, his jeans were soaked, the rough material clinging to his skin. Tucked against his chest with one arm, he carried four unscented wax candles. Of fucking _course_ he’d lost the _Rock Paper Scissors_ game and of fucking _course_ he was the one who had to run five blocks in the snow to get the damn things out of Baby’s trunk for a tracking spell and of fucking _course_ the shapeshifter they were hunting had slashed the tires so he couldn’t just drive back. He was gonna rip the thing’s lungs out for that one.  
   
Hopefully, Sam and Cas had found the rest of what they needed for the spell and were already waiting for him behind the Gas-N-Sip with the shifter’s toothbrush so they could get this over with. Now that the sun had set, it was too damn cold out, his joints were aching, and there was a girl in danger who didn’t even know it yet.  
   
Dean rounded the corner of someone’s god awful six foot high wooden fence and slammed face first into his little brother. He stumbled backward, glad for Sam’s quick reflexes that kept him from falling on his ass. The hand keeping him upright was suddenly used to jerk him right back around. Before Dean could ask questions, Sam was pushing him forward, demanding that he run and without warning, Cas was at his side too, fingers wrapped around Dean’s elbow, urging him onward. Dean went with it, trusting their reasoning—whatever it was—and was glad of it as not seconds later, he heard voices shouting at him to stop, freeze, and put his hands in the air.  
   
Dammit.  
   
Dean picked up his pace, stomping down snow, praying he didn’t slip, and snapping, “I was gone for _fifteen_ minutes! What the hell happened?!”  
   
“Funny story—,” Sam began.  
   
Cas immediately interrupted as they rounded another random corner. “It is not.”  
   
Sam ignored him. “We went into the convenience store because it’s cold and you were taking forever, and guess who we ran into?”  
   
“The shifter was there, Dean, in the candy aisle, still wearing the same face as last time we saw him.”  
   
“We were all a little surprised for a moment,” Sam says, “Because what are the odds of running into the guy we’ve had so much trouble locating that we were gonna resort to a tracking spell?”  
   
“Very slim,” Cas added.  
   
“Then the guy tries to run, so Cas cuts him off, so we end up fighting him, okay, and one thing leads to another, and somehow Cas is disarmed but I end up with the angel blade so I stabbed him.”  
   
“Sam apparently wasn’t positive that the angel blade would kill a shapeshifter, so he stabbed him _multiple_ times—”  
   
“I just wanted to be sure!”  
   
“No, you were frustrated with how long this hunt has lasted and were taking it out on the monster’s corpse. You knew full well that—”  
   
“Okay, so I was relieving a little stress—”  
   
“Guys!” Dean interrupted, barking it out to be heard over his fellow hunters and the police still chasing them. “The cops?”  
   
“Oh, they were in the parking lot getting fuel and an employee started screaming for them the moment the fight broke out,” Cas answered easily.  
   
“We ran, and bumped into you, and now you’re all caught up,” Sam summarized, “So, you got any ideas on how to get out of this mess?”  
   
Dean didn’t answer, choosing instead to push himself harder, picking up speed and pulling ahead, leading the other two deeper into the residential neighborhood, taking random turns, hoping to lose their pursuers in the maze of houses. The thick snow slowed them all down, but it gave Dean a moment’s time to think. Ridiculously large inflatable holiday decorations littered people’s front yards, blocking his view ahead, but the bright lights strung up on porches and eaves lit up the neighborhood, saving him more than once from patches of ice he wouldn’t have seen in the dark otherwise. This close to Christmas, most families were home for a short winter break, so breaking into a vacant house to hide in wasn’t a viable plan.  
   
He wracked his brain for more ideas, continuing to lead them in random directions, hoping something helpful would pop up. The police officers were slowing, no longer visible, but their footsteps were audible somewhere behind them, so they were still giving chase. Dean would admire their dedication if it weren’t him they were were after.  
   
“There!” Sam gasped, arm swinging up to point down the street. Dean followed his line of sight and _yes_ , there was a heavily wooded area right past a Dead End sign at other end of the road.  
   
“No, too obvious,” Cas said, pointing at an angle to where Sam’s finger was aimed. He was motioning toward a dark house with another six foot tall wooden privacy fence. “We can hide behind the fence and let them _think_ we went into the woods, and then sneak out the back.”  
   
Neither brother argued, both falling back slightly to let Cas take the lead, following him to cut through several lawns, making a direct route to the fence gate at the side of the empty house. They were almost there, close, nearly halfway across a brightly decorated yard when Sam yelped and tripped, foot caught on an extension cord attached to a lit up display of Santa’s sleigh. The angel blade Dean hadn’t even noticed he was carrying flew out of Sam’s hand and slid across the yard, a red trail of the shifter’s still wet blood marking its path. It came to a stop at the house’s porch steps.  
   
“Shit!” Sam cursed, climbing to his feet and dusting off snow.  
   
Dean went to the blood trail, kicking snow over it to hide it as best he could, and Cas darted toward the angel blade. It disappeared up his sleeve just as the front door flew open.  
   
An angry, slightly balding man in a bathrobe and slippers waved a baseball bat at them. “What the hell is going on out here?” he barked. “Who are you people!”  
   
Dean, Sam, and Cas stood frozen in the snow. Dean’s mind was frenzied, devoid of anything helpful to their situation other than a mantra of _shit, shit, shit, fuck, shit_.  
   
Cas was wide eyed, mouth slightly open.  
   
The man shook his bat at him. “Are you trying to steal my lawn ornaments? Are you people hooligans? Delinquents!”  
   
Cas shut his mouth, swallowed, and his eyes darted to Dean, and then to Sam, and then back to the man. He parted his lips again and the fucker started _singing_.  
   
“Hark, the herald angels sing,” Cas’s deep voice rang out into the quiet night, “’Glory to the newborn king’.” His lips twisted into a strained smile at the man, eyes darting again to the brothers, a silent plea that Sam caught on to immediately, moving to stand at Cas’s side. Together, they continued, “Peace on earth, and mercy mild, god and sinners reconciled.”  
   
Finally getting with the program, Dean rushed to join them, dropping a candle on his way over and earning a suspicious look from the man in the doorway. He stooped to pick it up, shoving it in his pocket, stuck by an idea. He was good at improvising.  
   
Dean handed a candle to Sam and then Cas, using a lighter to light the third in his hand while they sang on, and then he used his candle to light theirs. It was cliche and stereotypical, but it would only add to their impromptu cover story, and hopefully make them seem more credible. He took his place next to Cas but far enough back that it would appear to have been coordinated beforehand. Sam took a small step back as well, as if he could read Dean’s mind, all the while shooting a winning smile up at the man and singing off key. He nudged Dean’s side with an elbow, presumably trying to get Dean to sing too, but nope, _that_ wasn’t gonna happen.  
   
The man on the porch was grinning at them now. He turned his head to yell into the house. “Phillis! Get the grandkids! We’ve got carolers!”  
   
Moments later, a woman appeared in the doorway as well, two small children with her, rubbing their eyes and yawning, all in their pajamas. Her hands flew to her chest and she exclaimed with unadulterated glee, “ _Oh, my goodness_! We haven’t had carolers in years! Listen up, kids! This is the magic of Christmas!”  
   
Dean’s smile was strained, but hers was bright and cheerful. She was outright beaming at them, eyes moving over their faces one at a time as she listened to Sam butcher the song and Cas sing it like it was a mournful church hymn. She turned to Dean with anticipation, unknowingly causing Sam to elbow Dean in the ribs again, and this time, Dean _had_ to sing, because now  the cops were behind them walking down the street, and the family was expecting him to, and of fucking _course_ this had to their cover story.  
   
Dean opened his mouth and just let it go. “Hail the heaven born prince of peace, hail the son of righteousness,” he sang, discreetly crossing his fingers at the accuracy of the lyrics. His voice fluctuated with the tune, rising and falling as needed melodiously. To his annoyance, Sam and Cas both fallen quiet, staring at him with slack jaws and wide eyes, and he kind of hated them in the moment for making him carry out this alone, but the police had entered his peripheral and were coming closer still, and he couldn’t just stop in the middle of the damn verse and blow their cover story.  
   
Thankfully, the other two got their wits about them again and joined him for the final lines of the song. “Born that man no more may die, born to raise the sons of earth, born to give them second birth. Hark, the herald angels sing! ‘Glory to the newborn king’.”  
   
The family applauded and an officer opened her mouth to speak, but Cas jumped right into another song, not giving anyone a chance to talk. It was another hymn—Dean sent a silent thanks up to Pastor Jim and his Midnight Mass services because both brothers actually knew the damn thing—and then Sam led them straight into _White Christmas_ after. It was as it came to a close that the female cop spoke, quickly and loudly, preventing them from going on.  
   
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have to ask you all a few questions,” she said, stepping forward. She didn’t wait for a response, clearly in a hurry, and continued on, “We’re looking for two men, one of average height and one significantly shorter, both wearing dark coats, who we believe may have come this direction. Have you noticed anyone matching that description, or any suspicious activity at all?”  
   
The couple on the porch answered in a negative while their grandchildren glanced around the neighborhood with renewed interest. Sam, the genius that he was—and who Dean would forever be grateful for—offhandedly commented about how they’d seen “a couple of shady looking guys run into those woods over there, officer, acting really suspicious the whole time”. Fortunately, the officers believed him. _Unfortunately_ , only two went into the woods. One took the time to radio for backup while the other went from house to house, canvassing the area, meaning that, in order to keep their cover, Dean, Sam, and Cas had to _continue_ caroling through the neighborhood.  
   
They made their way down the street, one house at a time, at a pace so slow it was nearly agonizing. They sang a variety of songs, repeating a few, Cas choosing hymns and Sam trying to steer him into songs the brothers were more familiar with, leaving Cas to stumble through radio friendly tunes like _Holly Jolly Christmas_ and _Santa Baby_. They were two houses down and partly through _Winter Wonderland_ when the police backup arrived, forcing them to continue on to keep up appearances. Sam went on choosing songs, clearly getting a little desperate for choices after a lineup of _I’ll Be Home for Christmas_ , _It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas_ , and _Twelve Days of Christmas_ , but when Dean tried to help, he just led them down the same path with _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_. It was actually Cas who dug them out of _that_ repetitive hole by unexpectedly belting out the lyrics to _Little Drummer Boy_ with unrestrained fervor. They ended the evening several hours later with a tired rendition of _Silent Night_ before they slipped away.  
   
They made their way back to the Impala, stopping only so they could dump their burnt out candle stubs in a garbage can. Dean set about removing the slit tires, Cas helpfully (and not so subtly but no one even gave a fuck by that point) lifting the back of the car off the ground for him to do so, while Sam took a taxi to the nearest 24-hour Walmart with a list of Dean-Approved tire brands. They didn’t make it back to the motel until nearly dawn, and it took almost the whole day of driving before they made it back to the bunker. Dean had never been more happy to let Cas drive while he dozed in the passenger seat, even if he’d embarrassingly woken up with his head on Cas’s shoulder and Sam’s symphony of obnoxious backseat snoring. The small upward tilt to Cas’s lips told him the angel didn’t mind it, at least.  
   
It was nearly ten o'clock Christmas Eve night when they finally parked Baby in the garage and climbed the stairs into the bunker. It was just the way they’d left it. Sam’s cluttered research was spread across two tables in the library, Cas’s cheesy holiday themed romance novel still propped open on the arm of the chair in the corner, and Dean felt a little guilty upon noticing that he’d accidentally left an empty beer bottle in the war room. He picked it up and chucked it in the nearest recycling bin—Sam’s idea—and toed off his boots. The snow had followed them all the way back to Lebanon, and he had no desire to track wet sludge all over the place. Cas immediately did the same, but it took Dean loudly clearing his throat before Sam came back from La La Land (he’d driven the last leg of the trip and was understandably tired as all fuck) to take off his own footwear. Dean laid out a towel on the floor for their shoes to dry off on. They enjoyed a companionable silence as they put their boots in place and peeled off their damp socks, comfortable in the bunker’s warmth and each other’s company.  
   
Cas had to go and ruin it by opening his mouth and bringing up the one thing Dean _really_ didn’t want to talk about. “How do you both know all those Christmas songs? I wasn’t even aware so many existed.”  
   
Sam laughed, easing Dean’s worries a bit. Sam said, “Probably the same way you know all those hymns—a lot of exposure.” He motioned back toward the garage. “We spend a lot of time in the car, and this time of year, it’s always the same ‘festive’ songs played on the radio over and over and over again. We’ve been hearing them our entire life.”  
   
Dean added, “Ugh. No matter how many times and how many versions I’ve heard of _Baby It’s Cold Outside_ , it’s still rape-y and gross.”  
   
Cas squinted at him, presumably having no idea what Dean’s talking about, and Sam launched into a spiel about a reworded cover of the song emphasizing consent. Dean partially tuned him out, attention drifting anywhere from Sam’s mess on the tables to Cas’s blue eyes to internally debating when to start laundry. He could start a load now or wait until morning, because he was kind of tired, but unlike his brother, he’d napped a little in the backseat today.  
   
Sam speaking his name drew his attention back to reality. The fucker had a wide grin spread across his face. “So, Dean! I think you shocked both of us yesterday. Since when did you learn how to sing?”  
   
Dean felt his face heating up. “Shut up, Sammy.”  
   
“Oh, c’mon! Every time I’ve ever heard you sing, you’ve sounded like a rabid chupacabra. What you did yesterday was _not_ that.”  
   
Cas piped up. “You sounded wonderful, Dean. Your voice in song is very melodious. I know a couple of angels you’d put to shame, and you should know,”—he leaned forward with his eyebrows raised, like he was letting them in on a secret—“all angels are talented singers.”  
   
Sam laughed again, cheerful and buoyant in his lighthearted teasing. “Dean Winchester: voice of an angel!”  
   
“I didn’t say that. It’s impossible for a human to reach certain frequencies—”  
   
“Okay!” Dean exclaimed, cutting Cas off and grabbing his duffel off the floor, heading toward the doorway. “I’m going to bed.”  
   
Two voices echoed _goodnight_ back at him, and his exit was effectively made. Dean arrived in his bedroom unscathed, albeit a little embarrassed. His singing wasn’t something he was comfortable sharing.  
   
He made short work of emptying his duffel—clothes in the basket, toiletry pouch on the sink, coat on the rack—and changed into sweats and a plain black tee. Nap or not, the lights were out and he was on his back under the blankets in record time. His mattress (bless memory foam) was just right beneath him, the bunker was silent, and his eyes slipped shut. He lay there, breathing steadily and waiting for sleep to take him.  
   
And he kept on waiting, and waiting, and waiting.  
   
Dammit.  
   
Dean had fucking _sang_ in front of people. He knew he could sing well (always had) but his dad emasculated everything, included talented male singers. Dean had _never_ sang truthfully in front of anyone but his mom before. He’d literally been pretending to be tone deaf since his mother’s passing, when completely out of left field, he found himself under pressure and suddenly forgets an ingrained lifelong habit? He had no idea what came over him. Sam’s slack jaw, quick inhale of air, and eyes shining with glee and a promise of endless teasing, was a mountain of embarrassment by itself. And then there was _Cas,_ a whole different flavor of embarrassment. He’d been so impressed with Dean’s voice that he had put Dean front and center at every other house they caroled to, had stated Dean’s singing was superior to that of a couple of his brothers, and that wasn’t even mentioning that Cas was an angel, a creature that was fucking _made_ to sing, who really shouldn’t be impressed by any human at all. The thought of Cas’s admiration both baffled and flattered Dean, and that tickling feeling in his stomach that he got whenever he felt he’d pleased Cas in some way made an appearance, and _fuck this_.   
   
Dean clearly wasn’t gonna sleep any time soon, so he figured he might as well get up.  
   
Moments later found Dean padding around in the kitchen, pulling a hot mug of milk out of the microwave and adding in a couple scoops of Hershey’s cocoa. He went about tweaking it, mind wandering from Christmas songs to Mary Winchester pulling him onto her lap years ago and them singing children’s tunes together. He briefly wondered if she knew what _Ring Around the Rosie_ was really about as he entered the library, glancing around for any sign of Cas. He hadn’t seen him when he’d come through on the way to the kitchen, and Cas’s novel was missing from the chair, so it was probably safe to assume Cas had retired to his room for the night.  
   
The thought gave Dean the pleasant feeling again. Cas _lived_ with them now. Cas wasn’t going anywhere. He had his own bedroom right down the hall from Dean’s and had spent a week putting it together. He’d traded the bed for a sofa, rearranged the dresser and desk, and even built his own flimsy Ikea bookshelf. He’d tucked his shoes under the sofa, had the beginnings of his own hunter’s journal on the desk, and had been lining the shelves with worn paperbacks bought at rummage sales. He even had his own nightstand next to the couch, complete with a drawer he never opened in polite company, an incriminating box of Kleenex, and a nearby waste bin. He’d settled in permanently.  
   
Dean felt his lips twisting in a smile as he took a seat at one of the tables, pushing some of the clutter out of the way so he could set his steaming mug down. He leaned back in the chair, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, picturing Cas as he was in the mornings—hair a mess, the flannel pajamas he wore for no reason other than because he _could_ , dorky bunny slippers he’d insisted on buying adorning his socked feet, token dead guy robe around his relaxed shoulders, a cup of coffee cradled between his palms, and a soft smile on his face. Cas was still an angel, but had taken the time more and more often to enjoy human comforts. His indulgences ranged from cheesy feel-good novellas, to voluntary sleep, to masturbation (which he denied, but Dean knew better, having seen the used tissues in the trash can and caught the scent of lube in the air one too many times). Theses changes in Cas’s demeanor had begun right after he’d moved into the bunker and Dean felt warm all around whenever he thought about it. Cas had grown so much more loose as time went on, his signature stiffness dissipating.  
   
Cas had finally found himself a place to call home. Dean was deliriously happy to know it was with him and Sam.  
   
Dean often found himself in awe of Cas—he’d been so much, been human and angel, been both dead and immortal, been strong and weak and lost and everything in between. Many would crack under the stress of what he’d been through or back away from the challenges he’d faced, but Cas had proved himself to be resilient and steadfast. Dean didn’t know how to describe how much it meant that Cas had defied everything he knew—his brothers, sisters, home, and loyalties—for Dean’s cause. Amazingly, Cas had stuck around, returning again and again to the Winchesters. The three of them had somehow, against all odds, become family.  
   
Even more so, his and Cas’s relationship had blossomed quietly in the background, without Dean’s notice, until he found himself here, alone in the library minutes into Christmas morning, Cas on his mind and his lips smiling without permission.  
   
With a huff, Dean picked up his mug, tentatively testing the liquid with the tip of his tongue before deeming it cool enough to drink. Cas’s voice from years ago echoed in his mind.  
   
_Dean and I do share a more profound bond_.  
   
Cas hadn’t been wrong. Perhaps Cas had known all along how their relationship would turn out while Dean was here, pathetically late on the uptake and brooding on it at least once a week because now that he was aware of his feelings, he didn’t know what to _do_ about them. His relationship with Cas was familial but certainly not brotherly like he’d thought for the longest time. There were times when Dean (a person well versed in avoiding chick flick moments) couldn’t help but feel like they were sharing an intimacy so far beyond platonic that it made his head spin and his stomach tickle and his chest tighten. In true Dean Winchester fashion, he always bolted the second he realized what was happening, but he couldn’t do that forever. He didn’t _want_ to.  
   
Dean shook his head in an attempt to clear his mind. He was tired and just wanted to sleep. He knew from experience that line of thought would only lead him to fretting over things and nail biting stress because emotions became so near overwhelming, he couldn’t stop seeing Cas every time he closed his eyes, and he _wanted_ —dammit. No.  
   
Dean shuffled through the papers and files Sam had spread across the tabletop, looking for anything to distract him. Some dull exploration of Men of Letter’s documents combined with the warm chocolaty goodness in this hand should hopefully aid him in his quest for sleep.   
   
Dean slid a manila folder to the side and blinked at what he unearthed. There was a pile of aged kid’s Christmas books staring back at him.  
   
“What the—,” Dean muttered, picking up the folder he’d initially brushed away and flipped it open. He assumed the books were related to the rest of the mess somehow. He certainly couldn’t picture Sam sitting here reading _The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus_ unless it was for research purposes. He flipped through the papers in the file, quickly growing bored. There was some bullshit about widespread holiday traditions, common beliefs, word of mouth stories, popular publications. Dean gave up and dug around for the legal pad he knew his brother would have somewhere in this mess. The nerd always kept notes on his findings. He found the yellow paper on the other side of the table and had to stretch across the wooden surface to grab it.  
   
Dean plopped back into his seat and started reading Sam’s tight scrawl. His eyes widened as he flipped the page, enthralled by the content. He was unaware of how much time had passed, finding himself preoccupied with Sam’s notes and his own curiosity as he checked the files Sam referred to. He was just forming his own conclusions when he finally read Sam’s, and then he double checked the cited folder to confirm that the Men of Letters had deduced the same.  
   
Dean dropped the file and the legal pad back on the table. “Well, I’ll be damned.”  
   
“Damned for what?”  
   
Dean nearly jumped out of his skin—and barely avoiding knocking his mug onto the floor—as his whole body jerked in reaction to Cas’s voice piercing through the quiet. He precariously cradled his cocoa in his hand, righting it and noting with minor disappointment that it had gotten cold. He stood, turning to Cas, and had to force down the flutter in his stomach at the sight of blue eyes and green flannel pajamas. Instead, Dean put on a frown and said, “How many times have I got to tell you? Don’t sneak up on people.”  
   
Cas gave an assenting nod. “My apologies. It was unintentional.”  
   
Dean shrugged it away and gave the obligatory eye roll, then headed to the kitchen to reheat his cocoa, Cas following. Returning to the earlier question, Dean answered, “Sam found some interesting stuff in the Men of Letters’ documents. Did you know Krampus used to be real? Hunters apparently took it out way back in the day.”  
   
Cas tilted his head. “I was unaware.” He watched Dean fiddle with the microwave, sliding his own mug in with Dean’s to reheat his tepid coffee, and asked, “What are you making?”  
   
“Hot cocoa,” Dean answered off hand, still feeling a bit giddy with his revelations, and dropped the most exciting news, “Even better, Cas—Santa _fucking_ Claus is real, too.” He shook his head in wonder as he pulled his mug out, the ceramic warm to the touch, and then handed over Cas’s, too. “I would never have believed it as a kid.” He found himself laughing on their walk back to the library.  
   
Cas joined Dean at the table, sitting in the chair next to him, smiling at Dean fondly. “That, I am aware of.”  
   
Dean looked up at the ceiling. “A tulpa. A damn _tulpa_. It seems obvious now, but I’ve never heard of any proof.” He shook his head in disbelief.  “Man, that is so weird.”  
   
Cas chuckled as Dean took a sip of his drink. “Despite being a cultural figure nearly worldwide, belief in Saint Nicholas—Santa—is more slim than you would think,” he explained, “Most people grow out of it, so the tulpa doesn’t actually have enough power to follow through on the exact magnitude of Santa’s supposed abilities. He makes a few generous deliveries a year in whatever area he’s in at the time, and that’s all.”  
   
“C’mon, man, first Sam and now you.” Dean heaved a put upon sigh, giving his late night companion the side eye. “It’s not cool to keep something like, ‘oh, hey, Santa is real’ from your family.”  
   
Cas raised an eyebrow, commenting dryly, “In in effort to placate you, I offer you with absolute certainty that the easter bunny is undoubtedly a myth.”  
   
Dean snorted and rolled his eyes, raising his cup for another drink, but paused. He looked down at it and then to Cas. “Hey, Cas?” When his friend simply hummed in response, distractedly fiddling with the small stack of children’s books, Dean nudged him to regain his attention. “Ever had hot cocoa?”  
   
Cas faced him again, eyes darting from Dean’s to the mug. “No.”  
   
“Try it. You might like it.” Dean urged, proffering his mug, “It’s sweet.”  
   
Cas accepted the beverage and raised it cautiously to sip from the rim. He took one sip, made a face, and then went in for a second as if double checking. He handed it back with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry, Dean. Mol—”  
   
“Molecules, I know,” Dean finished for him, shrugging. “We’ll find you something else you can enjoy eventually, but hey, at least you have coffee.”  
   
Cas nodded, picking up his own cup and swallowing a mouthful of whatever heavily flavored concoction he was into this week. Dean was pretty sure he smelled Pumpkin Spice, but he refused to acknowledge it. Acknowledging it would make it real, which meant that someone in this dysfunctional family had actually bought into the seasonal trap, and Dean didn’t want to think about it, lest he be tempted to see where the coffee creamer was stashed to use it in his own morning brew, and he wasn’t ready to admit to himself that Dean Winchester maybe liked Pumpkin Spice too.  
   
Dean pulled himself out of his traitorous thoughts, finding himself surprised at how easily he’d been lulled into a comfortable silence with Cas. He leaned on an elbow, sipping his cocoa, and watched Cas read through one of the books. Cas gave the story a fleeting smile before turning the page, eyes alight with amusement. Dean felt his chest expand and warmth fill him to his core. Cas was completely enraptured in the short tale and colorful illustrations. His, well, his not-platonic-but-platonically-at-a-distance friend, who was older than dirt (probably), was reading _‘Twas the Night Before Christmas_ with innocent curiosity, and that shouldn’t make Dean’s heart beat as fast as it did or his breath catch like it had or—  
   
“I dislike that one of the reindeer is called ‘Cupid’,” Cas stated, squinting at the page. “Surely the author could’ve come up with a more suitable name.”  
   
Dean was startled into laughter. He waved his hand absently and took a gulp of cocoa. It was growing tepid and he wanted to finish it before it got cold again. “There’s a reindeer named _Rudolph_ , for fuck’s sake. None of them have good names.”  
   
“Rudolph?”  
   
Dean nodded. “Yeah, from some old song from like, the forties or fifties or something.” He glanced at the pile of books in front of Cas, wondering if there was one on the topic, but didn’t see anything promising on the worn covers.  
   
“A song?”  
   
The excitement in Cas’s voice made Dean tense up immediately. He turned to Cas, hoping this wasn’t leading where he thought it was, and—  
   
“Can you sing it?”  
   
Fuck.  
   
Cas probably knew Dean’s first instinct would be to refuse. It would explain the near perfect imitation of Sam’s puppy eyes Dean was now facing, but Dean had long since grown immune to it.   
   
“Google it,” he deadpanned.   
   
A single eyebrow lifted in response. Dean remained stubbornly silent.  
   
“I would much rather hear you sing it,” Cas said, putting down the book and twisting in this seat to fully look at Dean.  
   
Dean grunted in disagreement. “Yeah, no, you wouldn’t.”   
   
He could feel his cheeks warming and fought the oncoming blush, but then Cas’s hand landed on his knee and he lost the battle. He was sure his whole face was beet red as Cas said with heartfelt honesty, “You’re very talented, Dean. I would be delighted to hear it from you.”  
   
Dean bit his lip, looking away from the earnest blue eyes. Yeah, he could sing, so what? He was a dude, and dudes didn’t sing unless it was something acceptable, like rock or maybe country, and most dudes didn’t sing well, and—  
   
“Gender roles are a social construct,” Cas’s voice soothed from somewhere to his right, “Singing will not emasculate you in any way.”  
   
Dean’s thoughts surged. Was Cas reading his mind now? He was sure Cas was right, but even if he let that go, he was still worried he would mess up, and if he were going to do this—it can’t really be that bad, can it?—he would want to impress Cas—it would probably be bad—and Cas was a motherfucking angel who used to regularly sing songs of praise and shit, and Dean had actually _heard_ Cas sing—he was so good, despite his gravely voice—and Dean couldn’t compare to that, not in a million years, and—  
   
“Dean.”  
   
Dean blinked.  
   
Cas’s hand cupped his jaw and Cas’s eyes locked onto his. He offered a timid smile and got one in return. Cas slid his hand back, expression fond and fingers gentle as they slid through Dean’s hair, and _oh God_ , they were having another _moment_.  
   
“I don’t want to force you into anything, Dean,” Cas said, lowering his hand to rest on the back of Dean’s neck, thumb absently caressing his nape, “But would it be an encouragement if I were to offer something in return?”  
   
Dean swallowed thickly, finding himself suddenly tense with anticipation. “What’s that?”  
   
Cas gulped too, showing a rare bit of nervousness. “I’ll give you your Christmas gift early.”  
   
The comment caught Dean so off guard that he barked out a laugh. “Cas, hate to break it to you, but it’s already Christmas as of”—he glanced at the clock—”forty-six minutes ago.”  
   
Cas rolled his eyes and gave Dean’s cheek an affectionate pat before pulling back. “Suit yourself.”  
   
Dean was taken aback. “What’s that mean? Wait, are you saying I have to wait until whenever you’re ready to give me a gift? I mean, I didn’t even _know_ we were doing presents this year—”  
   
Shaking his head, Cas gave him a good natured smile. “I’m undecided. You may not like it.”  
   
“Now you’re building suspense.”  
   
Cas shook his head again, more serious this time. “I mean it when I say I don’t want to force you. If you truly don’t want to, you don’t have to sing. I can google it.”  
   
Dammit, now it was a challenge. Cas probably didn’t mean it that way, but Dean felt the urge to meet it vibrate through his body. Cas had liked his singing from the get-go, and Dean was absurdly curious as to what his gift was. On top of that, Cas had said he would be _delighted_ to hear the stupid song, and a happy Cas usually meant a happy Dean.  
   
Dean turned away, scooting his chair around so his back was to Cas. “Fine,” he huffed, “But there are conditions.”  
   
“Go on.”  
   
Yeah, even without seeing Cas’s expression, Dean could hear the enthusiasm in his voice.  
   
“Three things.” Dean held up the appropriate amount of fingers, ticking one off at a time as he spoke. “One: you can’t watch me. Two: You tell no one—living, dead, dying, holy or unholy. And,”—he paused here for dramatic effect—“You hand over the gift as soon as I’m done.”  
   
“O-of course.” Cas’s reply was immediate, though his jittery reply didn’t inspire Dean’s confidence, but he chalked it up to anticipation. Dean swallowed again. He could do this. He’d rock Cas’s socks off (or at least try to), he’d get a Christmas present this year, and he’d get this fucking over with. He could hear Cas shuffling around behind him, and once the noise settled, Dean took a deep breath to begin—  
   
A hand slid onto his arm, and Dean jumped as Cas rested his palm in the crook of Dean’s elbow.  
   
“Dude, I said no watching!” Dean snapped, eyes wide and body stiff. He felt a warm breath against his nape and then a fuzzy, tickling sensation.  
   
“I’m not. My eyes are closed.” Cas sounded like he was absurdly close to Dean, and Dean realized with a start that Cas was right behind him, probably resting his forehead on the back of Dean’s chair.  
   
Okay. That was okay. He wasn’t watching. Okay.  
   
Cas’s hand squeezed his arm and Dean inhaled again, closing his own eyes as his voice escaped his lips, quietly breathing out, “You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen…”  
   
“Louder”, Cas whispered, thumb caressing Dean’s skin again.  
   
Dean nodded, even though it went unseen, and continued, the next line louder, and the one after that louder still, and so on until he was easily audible. It wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be, to sing like this to Cas. He could feel Cas’s hair brushing the back of his neck and his steady breathing. Dean stuttered through “you would even say it glows”, but Cas placed his other hand on Dean’s opposite arm, and Dean felt invigorated. He gained courage as he sang on, nodding his head to a beat only he could hear and by the second time through, he was really starting to present some actual _jolliness_ to the jolly tune, and Cas kept inching closer, his body heat warming Dean’s bare skin, and the fabric of their pajamas slid against each other as Cas’s arms wrapped around him, and then Cas’s chest was at Dean’s back, and Cas’s cheek was pressed against Dean’s jaw, and Dean was finishing with a contented sigh. “You’ll go down in history…”  
   
Dean’s body had become lax, like a puppet with cut strings. He slumped to rest his back against the chair and his head on Cas’s shoulder. Cas was lightly massaging his arms and softly grazing their stubbles together, and they just breathed, eyes closed and unspeaking. Cas’s warmth radiated into Dean’s flesh and he strongly wished that there weren’t a chair between them. He could imagine himself melting into Cas easily, taking in his ozone scent and heat and comfort. Cas’s hands were steady on his shoulders now, firmly working Dean into putty while simultaneously holding Dean still, effectively stopping his urge to bolt, because fuck him, they were having a fucking _moment_ over _Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_ and it was fucking ridiculous.  
   
The thing is, Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care.  
   
“Hey, Cas,” Dean mumbled, hesitant to break the silence, but drunk on the feeling and emboldened by it.  
   
Cas paused in his nuzzling. “…yes?”  
   
Dean lips tilted upward and he kept his eyelids firmly shut. He felt his face heating up again, but this time he wasn’t sure if it was due to embarrassment or something else. Pleasure? Joy? Shyness? “Hey, Cas,” he repeated, tilting his head to press their cheeks together again, “Is this my Christmas gift?”  
   
Unexpectedly, Cas laughed, and it was like bells in Dean’s ears. He just grinned as Cas answered, sounding relieved, “No, but I can give it to you now, if you’d like. You performed so well, after all. I think you’ve more than earned it. Your voice was beautiful.”  
   
Dean rolled his closed eyes, smile still in place. “Dude, it was Rudolph, not opera or whatever.”  
   
Cas shook his head, the friction from their stubble rubbing together burning a little, but Dean didn’t mind. It was as if he were high, and for some reason, he felt that he could hold onto this feeling so  long he kept his eyes shut.   
   
Cas seemed in no hurry to burst Dean’s bubble. “Even so, I was overjoyed to hear you sing.”  
   
“Shut up,” Dean grunted, pressing his nose momentarily in Cas’s neck to hide his blush, “Just give me my present already.”  
   
He felt more than heard Cas take a deep breath. “Are you sure?”  
   
Dean’s brow knitted in concern as Cas’s hesitance, and he almost opened his eyes. He could feel the spell he was under cracking, but it wasn’t broken yet. “Yes?”  
   
“Alright,” Cas replied, “Keep your eyes shut.”  
   
To Dean’s chagrin, Cas moved away. Dean pretended he didn’t let out a mewl of disappointment as the loss of contact, but his eyelids remained sealed and Cas’s hands were back on his shoulders quickly enough. Dean’s grin returned and he held out his hands palms up, expectantly waiting for a gift to be deposited in them. Cas gently pushed them down to rest in Dean’s lap and placed both his palms on Dean’s jawline.  
   
Dean’s breath caught in his throat.  
   
“C-Cas…?” Dean’s heart pounded. He half expected it to leap out of his chest, or to go into cardiac arrest, or something. Cas was leaning in, and Dean startled with anticipation and glee and anxiousness because it could only have been heading a single direction, with a single result, and then he could feel Cas’s body heat, and his hands slide back into Dean’s hair, and then he could feel Cas’s breath against his chin, and— _oh sweet Jesus_.  
   
Dean didn’t _need_ fireworks or explosions or cardiac arrest. Just the gentle brush of Cas’s lips against his own was more than enough. Dean keened, his mouth twisting up into a smile, his hands coming up to grip Cas’s pajamas, and Cas made another— _bolder_ —pass at Dean’s lips, sliding his own chapped skin against Dean’s, and they both sighed into it.  
   
Cas pulled away and this time, Dean opened his eyes.  
   
Cas’s hair was still sticking up, and he looked slightly more rumpled than Dean remembered. Their gazes were locked onto each other. Cas was biting—no, he was practically gnawing—his bottom lip, clutching the hem of his shirt, and he was searching Dean’s face for something. Dean had no idea what to say, but there was an adorable pink flush high on Cas’s cheekbones, and Dean wanted to explore that, wanted to see how much he could get _Cas_ to blush for once instead, and what would Cas’s hair feel like between his fingers? Would Dean be allowed that now? Could he—  
   
Cas took a step back.   
   
“I-I… I apologize if that was out of line,” Cas stammered, breaking eye contact and moving further back, inching toward the doorway. He swallowed hard and said quickly, “Please, if you would prefer, we can easily pretend that never happened.” He looked around in futile. “I don’t even know what happened. What are we talking about?” He made an effort to shrug dramatically. “See? Nothing happened. Easy, right?” He stumbled, foot catching one of the bunny ears on his slippers. “Right, Dean?”  
   
Dean’s eyes widened. Cas had completely misread Dean’s silence. He had made it to the doorway, standing there awkwardly, and Dean gathered his wits about him hurriedly, rising to stand and crossing the room in a few long strides. He threw out an arm to catch Cas before he could retreat any further.  
   
“Cas, Cas, _Cas_ ,” Dean said, pulling him in by the sleeve, “It’s okay, it’s fine. Calm down.”  
   
“No, Dean, really, I was overstepping my bounds—”  
   
Dean swooped forward, kissing Cas quickly but confidently. A couple presses of lips and it was over, but the expression on Cas’s face as he pulled away was golden. Dean pressed their foreheads together, watching Cas’s smile slowly form and the corners of his eyes crinkle and his nose scrunch up, and _wow_ , Cas was full on grinning and Dean would be content if the rest of their days were like this brief moment in time.  
   
“This is okay?” Cas questioned, tentatively raising his hands to circle Dean’s biceps.  
   
“Yeah, Cas, it’s more than okay,” Dean sighed, closing his eyes again. “This whole thing— _us_ —kinda feels inevitable, anyway, right?”  
   
Cas nodded, bumping their foreheads. “Very much so. I don’t think I could have resisted it much longer.”  
   
“It’s like we have a profound bond or some shit,” Dean huffed, trying to lighten the mood. It was good, but heavy, and edging into chick flick territory.  
   
Cas laughed, leaning up to press a kiss to Dean’s jawline. He motioned up toward the door frame above their heads. Dean looked up, seeing nothing, and turned a puzzled look to Cas.  
   
Cas shrugged. “I had an elaborate plan to give you a wrapped box containing mistletoe, which I was going to hang here after you opened it, and lure you into a kiss with it.”  
   
Dean almost felt guilty for laughing, especially with the scowl Cas was trying to send his way (it wasn’t really having the desired effect as Cas was fighting a smile), but it really had to be said. “That’s fuckin’ corny.”  
   
Cas lightly smacked Dean’s chest with the back of his hand. “I’ll have you know, it worked for Emma-Lynn and Geoff.”   
   
Dean’s brow furrowed. “Who?”  
   
Cas raised an eyebrow. “You know, the couple from the novel I’ve been reading.”  
   
Dean threw his head back and laughed, slinging an arm companionably around Cas’s shoulders, but then—as Cas chuckled along at his own joke—Dean realized he didn’t face any limits with affection anymore, so he wrapped _both_ arms around Cas’s shoulders instead and buried his face in his neck, and then they were clutching at each other, cracking up and losing control, and it felt so _good_.  
   
It wasn’t even that funny.  
   
Dean literally could not remember the last time he felt this loose. It was like a weight had been lifted, one he hadn’t been aware was there for the longest time because it had built up so gradually. The release of no longer having to hold back, and the warmth of Cas’s affection, was freeing. Dean was dizzy with it. He was light as a feather and buoyant with the feeling. Cas didn’t have wings, but if they started flying, Dean wouldn’t have questioned it. The relief he felt was palpable, second only to the sheer fucking joy.  
   
Cas’s lips landed on Dean’s again, pressing against Dean and Dean’s back pressing against the door frame. Cas ran his hands up and down Dean’s sides, the kiss deepening with enthusiasm from them both. Dean nibbled on Cas’s plump bottom lip and Cas explored Dean’s mouth and hands were everywhere, exploring uncharted territory with glee. They were happy to bask in each other, and if Dean hadn’t been preoccupied with Cas’s fingers sliding up under the hem of his shirt, or his own efforts to press his thigh between Cas’s, he’d be embarrassed by his own behavior.  
   
Cas’s hands slid down Dean’s back and, just as his fingertips dipped below Dean’s waistband, Dean pulled back. Cas didn’t fight it, just pulled his arms up to wrap around Dean’s neck, a loopy smile directed at him.  
   
Dean snorted in amusement and reached down to firmly grasp Cas’s ass, giving his cheeks a squeeze as he said, “I think we should move this to the bedroom, don’t you think?”  
   
Cas tilted his head. “Who’s bedroom?”  
   
“Preferably the one with the bed, if you want my honest opinion,” Dean teased, “But I don’t really care too much.”  
   
Cas nodded, leaning forward again instead of heading down the hall toward a room. Dean opened his mouth to protest, but Cas quieted him with soft kisses along his chin, jaw, and cheeks. He nuzzled their stubble together again—something Dean was beginning to think was a _thing_ for Cas—and Dean honestly wouldn’t have been surprised if Cas had started _purring_.  
   
Instead, Cas sighed contentment into Dean’s ear. “This has been coming for a long time, I think. At least, it has from me.”  
   
Dean raised his hands to clutch at the back of Cas’s pajama shirt. They were heading into emotional territory again. Dean gulped. “Yeah, I get it, Cas. Same here.”  
   
“I just—” Cas pulled back, blue eyes catching Dean’s, and his worried expressed softened upon eye contact. “Am I correct in assuming that you know I’m in love with you?”  
   
Shit.  
   
Shit, shit, _shit_.  
   
Dean could feel a burn in his throat and a stinging in his eyes. He pulled Cas to him, squeezing him tight against his chest. One hand came up to hold the back of Cas’s head and Dean pressed his nose into his hair. He scrunched his eyes shut and took a deep breath to calm his internal panic. His mouth tried to form the words, the response he’s looking for, the one he should be giving—but he couldn’t.  
   
In lieu, he choked out, “I know. Thanks, Cas.”  
   
Cas hummed a pleased sound and began to sway their bodies side to side. They rocked like that for a while, content to hold each other in the hush of predawn. Cas’s torso was pressed against Dean’s, the solidity of him comforting Dean as he soaked in as much of Cas’s warmth as he could. Their breathing was a quiet rhythm in the otherwise still air and Dean’s heart pounded a steady beat against his ribs. Cas threaded his fingers through Dean’s hair and his lips brushed over the skin of Dean’s neck, sending pleasant chills down Dean’s spine. They moved in sync, Dean gliding his palms up and down Cas’s sides, enjoying the way the soft flannel slid against Cas’s flesh.  
   
Eventually, either because Dean was calmed or just because he had good timing, Cas slid free and tugged at Dean’s hand, smiling softly. “It’s Christmas, Dean. Let’s go have Christmas sex.”  
   
It was so far from what Dean thought Cas was gonna say that he froze, eyes wide. “W-what?”  
   
Cas chuckled, squeezing Dean’s hand. “Emma-Lynn and Geoff have made it their new annual tradition. Let’s make it ours, too.”  
   
“Oh.” Dean blinked and then smirked. “Well, for fuck’s sake, Cas. Let’s.” He entwined their fingers and connected their lips, feeling a rush of determination. If he couldn’t verbally tell Cas how he felt, then he would fucking _show_ him.  
   
They ended up in Dean’s room, groping their way to the bed until the backs of Dean’s knees hit the mattress. He sat, still kissing Cas, and leaned back, trying to tug Cas on top of him, but Cas had other plans. He pulled himself away far enough to get Dean’s t-shirt off, and then he was nipping at Dean’s neck and thumbing his nipples. Dean hummed his approval, tilting his head to give Cas more space. He brought his hands up to work at the buttons on Cas’s pajama top, eager to get them both naked. The shirt fell to the floor and Cas sank down to his knees to rest between Dean’s legs, mouthing his way down his chest, hands gripping the top of Dean’s thighs.  
   
His mouth sealed over a nipple and Dean couldn’t hold in his pleased groan. Dean was unable to stop from pushing his pelvis upward in reaction, because _holy shit_ that felt good. He was well aware of how sensitive his nipples were, but was unused to them getting such attention. Cas grazed his teeth over the bud, then once more, harder, and then sucked lightly. Dean gasped, arching into it, clutching at Cas. A tongue came out to soothe the abused flesh, and then Cas made his way across Dean’s chest until he was giving the other one the same treatment. The cool air hit the damp skin Cas had left behind, arousing Dean just as much, but when fingers began gently twisting and pinching at the tender nub, while Cas simultaneously licked at the other one, Dean had to wonder if he could come from nipple play alone. He was startlingly close just from this, almost painfully hard in his sweatpants.  
   
By the time Cas decided he was finished, Dean was panting. He swallowed hard, taking notice of Cas’s pupils, blown wide, only a sliver of blue at the edges. Dean felt a rush of arousal at the sight.   
   
Cas was just as turned on as he was.  
   
Dean helpfully lifted his hips from the bed as his pants and boxers were yanked off. Cas tossed them across the room and leaned down, just barely gliding his lips from the side of Dean’s knee up to his mid inner thigh. There, he pressed an open mouthed kiss, nibbling at the flesh. Dean held his breath, anticipation in his veins, cock throbbing against his lower abdomen. Cas shifted closer and closer in small increments, working his way up. Frustratingly, he paused to suck a bruise next to the crease between Dean’s torso and leg, warmth from his cheek radiating against Dean’s balls. Dean felt a whine escape him, nearing desperation. Cas was _right there_.  
   
“Please…,” Dean gasped, spreading his legs further apart, unsure if the move was meant as a request or an invitation.  
   
Dean really didn’t care, at this point. His eyes were squeezed shut, his fingers twisted in the bedding, and his breathing was erratic. He felt Cas’s hands kneading at his thighs and heard a muted _pop_ as Cas finally withdrew. A sudden wet heat engulfing his dick had Dean’s back lurching off the bed. He cried out with the movement, eyes flying wide open to see Cas take nearly his entire length down this throat in one go. A rough palm enveloped the rest, the sensation at odds with the silky tongue sliding along his shaft. Dean settled back on his elbows and moaned at the scene before him. Cas’s lips were wrapped tight around his girth, fist moving to meet his mouth with each bob of his head, cheeks hollowed, and eyes _locked_ on Dean’s.  
   
“F-fuck,” Dean hissed, chest heaving, unable to break their gaze.  
   
Cas kept up a steady pace, pausing at random intervals to suckle at the head, swirling his tongue around it and licking at the slit before diving back down to resume his ministrations. Dean gripped the comforter, fighting to keep his hips still. He watched Cas blow him, in absolute awe, as Cas practically worshiped his cock. Truthfully, it was as if Cas were worshiping _him_ , and Dean was speechless by it, emotionally and physically. There was a tingly, burning, soft feeling between his ribs, and he didn’t think he’d ever felt this whole before, and fuck, this wasn’t _just_ sex. He knew it wasn’t—knew he should have expected this, knew he shouldn’t be as surprised as he was by it—but there was only one way he could think of describe it.  
   
Dean Winchester was being made love to for the first time in his entire fucking life. The realization hit and almost overwhelmed him. He would take a good fuck any time—hopefully later today, against a wall, with his legs wrapped around Cas’s waist, if he had any say in it—but this was something else entirely. It was like the intensity of Cas’s feelings was alive, in the air and in his touch, vibrating into Dean and through him and under his skin, and Dean was struck with a need to make Cas experience it, too.  
   
He wanted to show Cas that he, too, was _loved_.  
   
With great effort, Dean sat up and gently pushed Cas off. Another _pop_ and then Cas was looking up at him, confusion clear on his face, but Dean surged forward, capturing Cas in a kiss. He broke it to pull Cas to his feet, tugged his pants down, and then hauled Cas onto the bed with him, Cas stepping out of the flannel just in time. They lay side by side, Dean unable to resist running a palm over Cas’s skin, from knee to shoulder. Cas reached for him, and Dean obliged, urging Cas onto his back so that Dean could lean over him. Their lips met, mouths open, moving wetly against each other, tongues sliding together, Cas gripping Dean’s biceps and groaning into it, hips moving of their own accord. Dean couldn’t stop, finding himself enamored with the sounds Cas was making, the small breathy sighs and pleasured mewls and needy whimpers.  
   
Dean wanted to hear more.  
   
His hand began to wander Cas’s body, where his muscles were hard, his thighs were strong, and—Dean smiled into the kiss, pleasantly surprised at the tender love handles beneath his palm—where his stomach was soft. He skirted around Cas’s erection for now, wanting to explore, see what Cas liked. He brushed a thumb against a nipple, and Cas shifted minutely, drawing Dean’s curiosity. He kissed his way across Cas’s jaw, down his neck, past his clavicle, going until he had his tongue licking over a dark nipple. Cas sighed airily, holding onto the back of Dean’s head, and when Dean pinched the other nub in this fingers, Cas’s aimless pelvic movements became arrhythmic only momentarily. Dean began to wonder if Cas was as sensitive there as he was, but then Cas’s hands started to wander, heading for Dean’s own chest, and Dean decided to move on. If Cas wasn’t delirious with ecstasy, then Dean wasn’t doing a good enough job.  
   
Dean trailed open mouth kisses downward, taking the time to nip at Cas’s belly button and place teasing nibbles on his stomach. He moved downward, following the thin line of hair under Cas’s naval, before licking over to the left, away from Cas’s dick. Cas made a displeased groan, but it wasn’t even fully finished before he was gasping and clutching at Dean’s shoulders. Dean blinked, unsure of what he’d done to garner _that_ response, so he backtracked a little until Cas did it again. Without warning, two hands were on his head, guiding him back to Cas’s hipbone. Dean grazed his teeth over it tentatively, wondering if that was what Cas wanted, and—  
   
Cas arched his back and moaned. “ _Dean_.”  
   
Oh, yeah. Dean could definitely work with this.  
   
He flattened his tongue and licked one long strip against it, then followed it with another scrape of his teeth. He nibbled on the flesh where the bone protruded the most. Cas’s hands were gripping his shoulders tightly now, squeezing the muscle there as he panted, eyes wide and mouth slack. Dean continued his ministrations, winding Cas up, switching back and forth between the left and right hip bones until his jaw was sore. He felt Cas’s cock bump against his cheek and turned to it, unsure of how well he would perform, but ready to attempt his first blow job. He wanted Cas dizzy with pleasure, but as me moved to take the cock between his lips, Cas grunted what sounded like “no” and tugged on Dean’s arms, urging Dean upward and back over him. Dean covered Cas’s body and lips with his own, giving his own pleased sigh as their bare chests pressed together, the heat of Cas soaking into his very being.  
   
A hand was pulling at Dean’s hip and Cas’s thighs were parting, spreading wide. Dean took the hint and settled his pelvis between them, hissing at the sudden friction against his achingly hard erection. Cas wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist and his arms around his shoulders, pressing on Dean’s ass with his heels, encouraging friction. Dean rolled his hips experimentally and they both gasped, breaking their kiss. He leaned down to press his forehead against Cas’s shoulder, repeating the pelvic movement until he found a rhythm. Cas breathed heavily into his ear, grasping Dean’s nape like a lifeline, nails of his other hand digging into Dean’s back just hard enough for a tinge of pain to register before Dean just as quickly forgot about it.  
   
The friction was unbelievable.  
   
“Dean,” Cas groaned brokenly, “Dean, this is wonderful… So much better than I imagined…”  
   
“ _Fuck_ ,” Dean choked out. Cas had fantasized about this—him— _them_ —and suddenly Dean had visions of Cas laying spread eagle on his sofa, jacking himself, body flushed red, Dean’s name on his lips. Dean shivered and increased his pace, turning his head to place hot, wet kisses on Cas’s neck as he moved. His body shuddered as he felt his orgasm approaching, and he made an effort to repress it, and he bit down lightly beneath Cas’s ear.  
   
Cas’s whole body jolted, his pelvis pushed up against Dean’s, and he cried out.  
   
Dean repeated the action, with a little more pressure, and then Cas was keening, thrusting his hips in a furious pace, unrelenting. Dean’s name of was mantra now, continuous and rising in volume steadily until Dean clenched his teeth harder around Cas’s neck, and then Cas was arching off the bed, clinging to Dean, mouth open in a silent scream. His legs tightened around Dean’s waist, pulling him closer, and then Dean’s release was shooting across their stomachs right along with Cas’s. He was unable to keep silent, grunting with his orgasm, working their hips together through their mutual climaxes until he was just too sensitive to go on.  
   
Dean collapsed, rolling to the side at the last second to avoid landing on Cas. They lay there quietly, for an unintelligible amount of time, faces pink and trying to catch their breath. It could’ve been minutes or hours, and Dean would never be positive just how long had passed. All he knew was that Cas’s fingers were entwined with his, there was drying semen on his belly, and Cas looked exquisite. His hair was a disaster, his chest was flushed, his body was loose, his lips were kiss swollen, smiling, and his eyes were practically twinkling at Dean.  
   
Dean swallowed down the familiar burn in the back of his throat and blinked to clear his vision. “Hey, Cas?”  
   
Cas tilted his head into the pillow, radiating contentment as he looked at Dean. “Hm?”  
   
Uncertainty was starting to rear it’s ugly head. Dean brought Cas’s knuckles up to his lips and held them there. “I…” He closed his eyes, counted to five, and opened them again. “This—this thing we have going on right now—it’s permanent, right? It’ll last?”  
   
“Dean—,” Cas started, but Dean went on, trying to calm his abrupt internal panic.  
   
“Because I can’t do this if it’s not permanent, if you’re not gonna stay, man. I—” He gulped, squeezed Cas’s hand, and met his gaze. “I need you, Cas.”  
   
Cas pulled their joined hands to his own lips and pressed a kiss against Dean’s fingers. “You have me, Dean. I’ll be with you for as long as you’ll have me. Infinitely, if you so decide.”  
   
A timid smile broke out on Dean’s face. “Sounds like a plan.”  
   
Cas shifted to his side, rising up to lean on an elbow. “May I make a request, then?”  
   
Dean lifted an eyebrow. “Depends on the request.”  
   
Cas’s lips tilted up just slightly and he ran a curious finger along Dean’s face, from temple to chin. “Will you sing more often? Even if it’s just to me?”  
   
Dean’s brow furrowed. Well, it wasn’t the proposal for round two he’d been hoping for, but he supposed that could wait—preferably until after breakfast. A glance at the clock proved it to be just after eight. He was considering cooking, maybe making some French toast. He was in a pretty damn good mood despite having not slept a peep all night, probably something he could contribute to the good sex, or the good man at his side. He just shrugged at Cas, suddenly unconcerned about singing. In the scheme of things, Dean didn’t really want to even bother arguing with Cas over this. Truthfully, he enjoyed singing, and at this point, after having some very gay sex—which, _whoa_ —he really shouldn’t be bothered at all with people’s opinions about his singing abilities. It didn’t emasculate him, not really, and it made Cas light up. That alone was worth all the songs he could ever sing.  
   
Dean slipped an arm around Cas’s shoulders and pulled him down. They settled, Cas pressed up against his side, head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean said, “I mean, I might as well, since you’re _always_ gonna be around, right? No sense in hiding anything.”  
   
Cas snorted in amusement. “Where was that logic a few hours ago?”  
   
“The same place whatever logic you’re using is that tells you to leave the dried come on _my_ stomach when you’ve already mojo’d your mess away,” Dean said, raising both eyebrows at Cas.  
   
“Oh,” Cas said, blinking and waving a hand to dissipate the semen, “My apologies.”  
   
“S’alright.” Dean nuzzled his nose into Cas’s hair. “Any song requests at the moment?”  
   
He felt more than saw Cas smile against his skin. “It’s Christmas, so I think something festive would be appropriate.”  
   
Dean frowned and looked up to the ceiling, thinking, before rolling his eyes at his own hilarity. He squeezed Cas’s shoulder and launched into Mariah Carey’s _All I Want for Christmas is You_ , laughing in self deprecation at the spot where he screwed up the lyrics and then again in—strangely, differently, amazingly—delight at the enraptured look on Cas’s face. When he finished, Cas was beaming at him so wide his gums were showing, and Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen that before. His heart pounded in his chest and he—  
   
“I love you, too, Dean,” Cas said, interrupting Dean’s thoughts and kissing him chastely, then again, more firmly, and Dean’s stomach flipped and he filled with warmth. Cas withdrew, smile now softer, more tender. “You say it in so many ways, and I cherish it every single time you do.”  
   
Dean could feel the blush on his cheeks, but he didn’t care. He slid a hand around Cas’s nape and pulled him back down for more kisses. He didn’t have to say the words for Cas to understand. It was a relief, but more than that, he was curious just how long he’d been saying it— _showing_ it to Cas—without even being aware of it. But Cas knew, and he supposed that was enough, but it filled him with so much adoration and appreciation for Cas that it left him needing to say it again.  
   
“Wanna go Christmas caroling?”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Jason Manns’ [Christmas with Friends](https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/christmas-with-friends/id944539860) album. 
> 
> Please leave kudos if you enjoyed. Happy holidays! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆


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